Page 27

Chapter Thirteen

O ut of sheer, stubborn bravado, Jacob accompanied his parents to church that Sunday, the day after the assembly.

Neither the Sylvaines nor Redmonds were present.

Then again, the crowd in the pews was sparser and less alert than usual, probably thanks to all the ratafia imbibed the night before.

Jacob intercepted a few curious glances, one wink, and one eyebrow wag.

All in all, it wasn’t too different from the usual Sunday.

Mostly, his neighbors seemed pleased enough to see him back in Pennyroyal Green, and greeted him politely after the service.

Most importantly, no banns were read in church that day.

Until he heard that Redmond was officially engaged to Miss Tarbell—this eventuality was the assumption of everyone in Pennyroyal Green, he’d learned from his parents—the possibility remained that Redmond might find a spine and abscond with Isolde.

But Jacob needed time to sort himself out.

He still wasn’t sure how he felt about Isolde, or what he wanted.

And as Monday became Tuesday became Wednesday, his days remained restless and his nights tense and sleepless.

The emotional tumult of the past few days— the pride and anger and shock—continued to sift down like the smoke from a battle.

At last, it cleared enough for him to see a miserably uncomfortable truth: he’d been grossly unfair to Isolde—he’d been an ass —because his biggest fear was losing her.

Not only that, but the notion that Isolde might truly care for a man like Redmond implied she contained complexities Jacob hadn’t anticipated.

The possibility that she might, in fact, be a world to be discovered spoke to his questing spirit.

To his surprise, a new sort of restless yearning and tenderness, a fresh fascination, stirred within him.

He had taken her love for granted. He did not feel he had ever really needed to win her. And the notion of fighting for her filled him with determination, too. He had already fought because of her.

It was time to learn the truth, no matter whether it crushed him.

It struck Isolde as surreal and almost outrageous that mundane daily life would march on as usual in the aftermath of devastation.

Apart from Sunday, that was, when she awoke looking exactly like someone who had sobbed themselves to sleep the night before.

Her kind and worried family did not press her for details, but they stayed home from church out of solidarity.

They ate ginger cake and played Whist, among other things.

She picked at the first and lost badly at the second but she was discovering her bravado was more muscular than she’d anticipated.

Besides, she would need to save some emotional resources for possible new levels of anguish: the official announcement of Isaiah’s engagement, for instance, or, horror or horror’s, Jacob’s, eventually, to someone else.

Or the announcement that they had fought a duel and were both dead. The possibilities seemed endless.

George went back to London and Lincoln’s Inn, and her father’s tutoring pupils appeared at the house, and she discovered the poppies had the nerve to burst into bloom as usual, laying their yearly red carpet up the hill to Miss Marietta Endicott’s Academy.

In the spirit of someone unraveling their knitting until they found the mistake, Isolde finally ventured out on Friday to the folly, the place where it all began.

Maria had gone with their mother to a meeting of the Lady’s Society, and bless them, they didn’t press when Isolde begged off, claiming a headache.

The day was perversely beautiful; the breeze a caress, only a few lamblike clouds frisking in the blue sky.

She leaned against the railing on the folly landing and closed her eyes, an ache in her chest as she recalled Jacob’s absurd performances on this very stage.

When she opened them again, she saw a man watching her from the road.

Her heart launched like a bird.

She sternly called it to heel. She didn’t yet know why he was here. She was just unutterably glad to see him.

“Do you remember how I used to think Romeo was an idiot?” Jacob called from his safe distance. He appeared to be on foot.

“He was, rather,” she agreed.

“So have I been.”

“You will get no argument from me.” She said it dryly, however.

This seemed to encourage him. “May I…” He gestured at the folly stairs.

She acquiesced with an ironic flourish of her arms.

He approached, slowly. He scaled two of the steps. Then paused.

They regarded each other. Her pounding heart made the blood ring in her ears.

He reached into his coat, and emerged with something. He settled it delicately on the railing.

It was an exquisitely carved little box, upon which stood a tiny woman all clothed in frilly white.

Her heart squeezed when she saw that Jacob’s hands were shaking as he wound it.

Suddenly, the little dancer was pirouetting to a Bach Minuet.

“ Ohhh ,” she sighed. Enraptured.

They watched the little dancer go around and around.

“I commissioned this for you from a craftsman in Barbados,” he told her softly.

Isolde slowly turned to him in wary amazement.

“I asked him if he could arrange for her to belch every third turn, but he told me it would cost two hundred more pounds.”

She stifled a shout of laughter.

His face lit briefly.

But they were both still tense and cautious.

He cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was a little shaky.

“My ship was delayed, Isolde, because a fever leveled everyone on it. Two men died. I nearly did. Everseas are hard to kill, however, you’ll be gratified to hear.

And while I was so weak, all I could think, when I could think, was that I never told you that I always take a short, sharp breath whenever you walk into a room.

Every time your beauty is a fresh shock to me. ”

She stared at him, stunned speechless.

He nodded, as if he was relieved to have finally said that.

“At the assembly…I found I was not prepared to withstand the pain of witnessing your pain. Obviously, I handled it badly. If I embarrassed or frightened you, I am here to apologize, and beg your forgiveness. And to tell you I understand why that poor wretched bastard Romeo wanted to die. Because watching you suffer made me want to die. Simply put, I would die for you.”

“Oh, Jacob.” Her eyes had begun to burn with tears, and she fought them. Not yet, she told herself sternly. Not bloody yet. Neither one of them had earned their redemption yet.

For a moment, nothing but a breeze ruffling the leaves on the trees disturbed the silence.

“Isolde, I shouldn’t have left for the West Indies the way I did.” His voice was taut with pain. “Without?—”

She shook her head roughly. “I knew why you did. I understood you needed to go. I wanted you to be able go. I knew I would miss you. And I knew that missing you would be difficult. I thought it might be romantic.” She paused.

“I was wrong about the last,” she added dryly. “And I underestimated how difficult.”

He quirked the corner of his mouth. But his eyes did not commit to the smile.

“The thing was, Isolde… no matter how you feel about me now, I want you know that you were in everything. I saw you everywhere. You were my first thought in the morning and my last at night. I wanted to see the world. I still do. And I don’t suppose that will ever change.

But I didn't fully realize that I saw the world through you. As though you’re a part of me. ”

“Oh, Jacob…” she breathed. It was everything she’d wanted to hear from him.

“Eight months is a long time. I promise I haven’t changed, unless it’s to become more myself.” He paused. “Have…you changed?” He asked this delicately.

She reached into her apron pocket.

Almost ceremoniously, she opened her palm and showed the celandine to him.

“I carry it with me everywhere, because I always want to be able to touch something you’ve touched.”

He released in a gust a relieved breath he had clearly been holding, then nodded.

There was another pause.

“If you care for…for…him, Isolde…” he began carefully, his voice thick. He took a breath for courage. “I am truly sorry if you’re hurting now. I will leave you alone, if you want me to go.”

His courage and vulnerability stunned her.

He was essentially baring his neck for the chopping block and handing the axe to her.

She wanted to be brave. She wanted to be honest. But like Jacob, like Isaiah, she would do anything to protect the people she loved, and she did not have skill with swords or fists.

So she lied.

“It was not what it may have looked like to you or to anyone else, Jacob.”

And with this lie, which was not completely a lie, she attempted to protect two men she loved from each other. She thought the truth would endanger both of them.

Jacob’s expression was searching and somber, unreadable.

There was nothing of judgment in it. But she wasn’t convinced he believed her.

He seemed older, in a thrilling, interesting way.

In truth, they both had changed; each knew their own hearts a little better.

They were sadder and wiser. And this might be one of the scariest conversations either of them would ever have.

“I love you,” he said quietly. “I promise you that this love has not for one moment wavered since I first met you. I have spent every moment of every day since last I saw you trying to imagine a future where yours isn't the first face I see every morning, where my destiny isn’t to safeguard your happiness. I cannot. I am... entirely at your mercy.”

She exhaled in a rush as joy spangled her with goosebumps.

“So I should like to know...if my selfishness…and recklessness…have altered your feelings for me. I beg of you be to be brutally honest. I will not drink poison, like Romeo,” he promised hurriedly. “I might leave the country and never come back.”

For a moment Isolde merely breathed in the sweet Pennyroyal Green air. She knew she would remember the scent of this morning for the rest of her life.

“Jacob...” she swallowed. “I think...you were how I came to truly understand the meaning of the word.”

“Which word?” he asked so warily she almost laughed. “Please don’t say ‘bastard.’”

“Love. It is the only word that can possibly describe what I feel when you're near me.”

Light flared in his face. “Which is...” he coaxed softly.

He scaled another step.

“As if everything is better. And brighter.” She spoke in scarcely above a whisper. “And bigger. And... right . Somehow the world makes much more sense when you're near and when you were gone…there was never a single moment where I stopped loving you.”

His eyes were shining. He drew a trembling thumb across her cheek, collecting one of the tears that had spilled from her eyes.

“Zold,” he said softly, “I want to marry you. If you need more time…”

“I want to be your wife,” she said at once.

They beamed at each other, a little in awe of their accord.

“Well, then.” The beautiful face of the beloved man before her was ablaze with happiness. “Let me do this properly, before I speak to your father. Isolde Sylvaine, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

“Oh, God. Yes, please, Jacob.”

She flung herself into his arms and he lifted her up and twirled her about until the breeze sent her dress sailing, like the music box dancer.

And then, at long last, he kissed her.

The kiss was knee-buckling. Tender, then passionate and claiming, the way she’d always known Jacob would kiss. She fit against him as if she was made just for him, and could feel the restrained desire humming in his hard body. Thrillingly, all for her.

“I will love you so well, Isolde the whole of your life,” he whispered.

And as Jacob held his fiancée in his arms, he thought, I will love you so well that you will struggle to remember his name. He will be invisible to you, even if he's one pew over in church. With my body, my heart, with every particle of my being, I will make you forget you ever knew Isaiah Redmond.